Pizza wars.

Since we moved up to the Hudson Valley, the population of our little town has grown steadily, but the number of pizza places has remained roughly the same. We lost a Pizza Hut (if "lost" is the term I want) as well another older place, and two more opened and closed in that time. An Italian place with brick oven pizzas opened, though, and the Blockbuster is now another pizza place. Dominos moved, but won't go away. Five others have held steady during that same period, becoming neither better nor worse and remaining in business. Some have never been all that great. I guess it's proof that, as the saying goes, sex is like pizza; even when it's bad it's pretty good.

What I'm saying is, I see an opportunity here. And yes, I mean the pizza, not the sex.

The thing I've learned is that bad pizza can thrive even in a good-pizza environment with one thing: advertising. So when I take my Fredcoin profits and open my pizza place, we're going right on TV and telling everyone how great the place is. Even though I am pretty poor at making pizza, we're doing that. 

Hey, paisan! It'sa me, Fredo, of Fredo's pizza parlor! Come on down and have a nicea slice of pizza. You love it! You tell everyone how great Fredo's pizza is! Looky here -- crust so nice ana soft you could sleep on it, but so firm you'd appoint it to the Supremo Court! Cheese, lots and lots, however mucha you want! And the sauce! It'sa to die for! Or maybe it'sa to die from. Either way, you never eat another sauce ina you life!

You want toppings? We gotta da toppings! Pepperoni, sausage, meataballs, little fishies! Mushroom, garlic, onions, olives! Artichokes, roasted red pepper, scungilli! Broccoli, pine nuts, Cheez Wiz, soppressata, chocolatea sauce! Just no pineapple. You aska for pineapple, we sticka you head ina da toilet.

And we gotta more! Homemade pasta! Well, someone made it, maybe at home. Also: Lasagna! Fettucine! Octopus! Mussels manicotti! Clams casino! Oysters soprano! Crab basso profundo! Antipasto, propasto, we no takea sides! Chicken cacciatore! Veal parmigiana! Turkey tetrazzini! Goat oreganata! Squishy things fried ina oil! We're not sure what. Don't ask, justa mangia! You tried da resta, now try da besta!

Remember, at Fredo's, you likea the food so much, you wanna throw it up so you can eat it again! 

On Route 17A, next to Charlie's Mow & Plow

Radioactive.

So large family-size dog Tralfaz is still getting chemotherapy. I'm glad to say he is still doing very well on it. It's very hard to get him to take capsules -- not all drugs can be chewed, damn it -- but once the two pills are down his throat, he seems to be just fine. Doesn't seem to affect his appetite at all anymore. It may be causing some nocturnal trips to the yard, but that’s endurable.

The six-month plan for his treatment has actually turned out to be a six-dose plan, because the drug, lomustine, is radioactive, and is rough on the liver. Every month we have to get him a blood test, and if his liver enzymes are too high, we have to hold off for a month. It's taken about eight months for his first five doses, and he's expected to get just one more. 

As you might imagine, a radioactive drug comes with certain warnings. I'm supposed to wear gloves when shoving the pills down his throat — while he's trying to pull away and snap shut his huge mouth. He is supposed to pee where "urine will drain quickly." Feces should be placed in a plastic bag and gloves should be worn for the disposal. Other dogs should not drink out of the same bowl for 24 hours after the medication is given. 

Unfortunately, the poop does not glow in the dark, which would make it easier to find. 

How dangerous is it, really? I've tried to find out, but I can't find anything that says exactly how radioactive it is. I'd love to borrow a Geiger counter and wave it over the pills. Or the poop.

Well, I hope I don't get cancer of the phalanges, because while I'm great at washing my hands raw over these things, I'm bad about wearing the gloves. Fazzy's so big he would probably swallow my hand if I used gloves to stuff the pills into him, and I never think to bring them with me on Captain Poopy patrol. 

I guess I'll be joining the Firm, then.

And that song hit #1 on the US rawk chart!

What we deserve.

This item on the Great Lileks's site incited a riot -- well, some worthy comments -- the other day:

 

The 70's-era ad, from Penny's (the supermarket, not J.C. Penney's) makes an assumption that goes back at least to that decade -- that "you" the customer, deserve something special. I noted that in that same decade McDonald's had success with its "You Deserve a Break Today" campaign. 

The question was: Who says? What's the standard for deserving? Why does someone deserve the best just for reading this ad? I could be an absentee dad grifter with a long history of broken hearts and stolen wallets, but reading this ad makes me deserving of the best? 

Pure flattery, I know, but it is everywhere these days and as empty as ever. Because they don't know me and they don't know what I deserve. Why should I take that any more seriously than I'd take a random person insulting me online? 

Here's another one, garnered from social media. It's trying to be nice, but how does it know anything? How do you know I'm worthy of anything more than a fist to the face, CryptoNaturalist? What are you, Thor's hammer?

Then there's the ones that go beyond the affirmations to stupidity, the kind that assume you're awesome and you know you're awesome and tell you how to go out and spread your awesomeness to the world. Dove chocolates, which are in fact awesome, has apparently solicited various dumdums to promote these kinds of messages: 

Could I be authentically fearless instead?

Isn't the word "tribe" racist now?

I was making fun of affirmations years ago, and the ones I see now are even worse than the ones I was targeting then. Knowing that the writers don't know anything about the readers ought to give the latter an empty feeling, because the only thing the writers really seem to believe is that the readers are suckers for flattery. Even children know when affirmations are worthless, and know better than to trust adults who spew them. 

Anyway, I have enough trouble believing compliments when they come from people who do know me, because I expect they don't know the real me. And if they did, they'd be disgusted. But maybe that's where affirmations leave off and my own neuroses take over.  

Hero(s).

This entry isn't about heroes, really, or maybe it is. Everyone has a favorite teacher, even if one came up through the New York City public schools as I did. Mine in high school was an English teacher who, while firm about the nuts-and-bolts of reading and writing, was generous in support about essays and stories and interpretation. 

But first, a word about spelling. 

English spelling is hard, and that's a fact. I wonder how anyone ever learns it without growing up immersed in it. It features so many rules that are rock-solid until they are not, like the old i-before-e-except-after-c-and-neighbor-and-weigh... Does it even count as a rule if it has so many exceptions? And what makes C so special that it changes the i-e configuration? 

The rule that I want to mention today is the -es for plurals that end in a vowel, except when they don't. Tubas doesn't count; mercies does, although you also turn the y in mercy into an i because the word has a consonant before the y. If the word has a vowel before the y, you don't turn the y into an i, as in donkeys. Unless you do--monies is becoming more common than moneys, for example, although monkeys keeps its y. 

When a noun ends in an o, as in potato, it almost always gets an -es plural. But the same rule applies; if the word ends in a vowel + o, as in ratio, it gets no e (ratios). Thus, the plural of hero is heroes, since the letter before the o is a consonant. 

That was one plural I had down solid. I was a comic book nerd into and through and beyond my high school years (Oh, really, Fred? Who'd have guessed?) and I knew DC had the World's Greatest Heroes. So when my favorite teacher wrote heros on the board, starting a lesson on literary heroes, I pointed out the missing e.

"Heroes is spelled with an es at the end," I said.

"No it isn't," she said, looking sore at me for about the only time I can remember, and continued on with the lesson.

I was shocked, maybe more so than was worthy of the occasion. And yet, a girl I mooned after in the class, a beautiful elfin girl with almost white-blond hair, turned around in her chair to look at me and mouthed You're right! Which almost made it worth while. 

It's funny that of all the things I enjoyed in that class, that one misspelled moment sticks out in my memory the most. (And I was right; Merriam-Webster allows a lot of alternate spellings or words, as seen in a rather long article on this topic here, but only allows heroes as the plural of hero.) 

My teacher really was excellent, so much so that I would look forward to her class even if I had forgotten to do my homework. In my senior year I joined the literary magazine staff in part because she was the faculty advisor. She strongly encouraged my writing, more than anyone ever had before and -- alas! -- probably has since. But she spelled a word wrong in big letters, and may have just gotten angry because I corrected her in front of the class like the dweeb I was. 

Oh, well. I'm a better man and a better writer and editor than I would have been if I hadn't studied under her. As far as I am concerned, she'll always be one of my heroes. Or heros. Whichever she prefers.  

Doge.

The Dark Side of the Renaissance

 

Fictional Planet or Brand-Name Prescription Drug--Round Two!

 

Ming the Merciless, Ruler of Planet Mongo, Invites You to Play Another Round of ... 

Fictional Planet or Brand-Name Prescription Drug!

Did you pass the last test? Well, you had best do well this time, or it's the ice mines for you! 

1. Lenvima

2. Felina

3. Aloxi

4. Quadritop

5. ZR-3

6. Durla

7. Skaro

8. Altabax

9. Priplanus 

10. Carillon

11. Wera

12. Felbatol

13. Mometamax

14. Arianus

15. Druidia

16. Thra

17. Altair IV

18. Xudar

19. Brodo Asogi

20. Duetact

💊🚀💊🚀💊🚀

MERCILESS ANSWERS

1. Lenvima: Drug -- kinase inhibitor (lenvatinib)

2. Felina: Planet -- ruled by the villainous Overcat in Underdog

3. Aloxi: Drug -- injectable anti-nausea drug (palonosetron)

4. Quadritop: Drug -- topical antibiotic with four ingredients, for dogs and cats 

5. ZR-3: Planet -- home of the bickering androids (played by Ruth Buzzi and Jim Nabors) in the Krofft show The Lost Saucer

6. Durla: Planet -- home of Chameleon Boy from DC's Legion of Super Heroes

7. Skaro: Planet -- original home of the Daleks from Dr. Who

8. Altabax: Drug -- retapamulin, an ointment for impetigo

9. Priplanus: Planet -- home of the Robinsons in the first season of Lost in Space

10. Carillon: Planet -- in the original Battlestar Gallactica, home of the buglike Ovions

11. Wera: Drug -- oral contraceptive

12. Felbatol: Drug -- a potent antiepileptic (felbamate)

13. Mometamax: Drug -- combination therapy; canine use only, for ear infections

14. Arianus: Planet -- from everyone's favorite Star Trek (original) episode, "Let That Be Your Last Battlefield" (or, "Half a Frank Gorshin Is Better Than None")

15. Druidia: Planet -- the nice one from Spaceballs, led by King Roland

16. Thra: Planet -- from The Dark Crystal, the weirdest Muppet movie of them all, including the one with Bowie

17. Altair IV: Planet -- the planet that is forbidden in Forbidden Planet. Kudos if you weren't taken in by thinking IV was intravenous rather than 4.

18. Xudar: Planet -- home of Tomar-Re, a member of the Green Lantern Corps in DC comics

19. Brodo Asogi: Planet -- the home of E.T., not mentioned in the film E.T.: The Extra Terrestrial, but used in a novel based on the movie and elsewhere 

20. Duetact: Drug -- combo drug for type 2 diabetes (pioglitazone and glimepiride)


MING CALCULATES YOUR SNIVELING SCORE:

20 -- You're either a huge drug addict or a huge nerd; either way, get help, minion!

15-19 -- Ming admires your knowledge and offers you a place in his oppressive organization. You will learn to wreck planetary economies with viruses and inflation while you cause chaos by letting violent criminals run in the streets. Ha! Ha ha! HA HA HA HA HA!

10-14 -- Ming tells you to study more and has you flung out into the space dumpster.

6-9 -- Ming scoffs and tells you to go back to school. He also calls you a blockhead and a nincompoop, which makes you cry a little. Then he has you thrown into the space dumpster.

1-5 -- Ming sends you to work in the ice mines. Ming likes his frozen daquiris, and he drinks a lot of them, so you'll be very busy mining ice for him. HA HA HA HA HA!

Construction debris.

Once again, the robins have arrived, and are starting construction on a new house. 

I don't mind that at all -- it's more of a problem for them, really, because after the eggs are laid, every time we go in the yard with the dogs, mom flies off in a panic and then peeps angrily from a tree until we go away. Look, lady, I'm sorry, but I pay the mortgage here, not you!

They also leave a lot of construction debris around. 

I saw a male robin working on a nest in a neighbor's yard. The red-breasted henpecked hubby had a mouth full of dead grass, and was no doubt waiting to be told where to put it. "Try it on that branch... no, wait, put it in the maple tree... no, no, too much light. Move it over to the gable. Oh, no, forget that. How about the dogwood? Higher, higher… Why are you looking at me like that, Ralph?"

You'd think that robins mate for life, with all that going on. The male robin does seem to understand one of the crucial rules of marriage:

But in fact, robins usually don't mate for life, although they might get together again if they find themselves hanging out in the same place the next year. In any event, for the male, it's a case like any second marriage -- the triumph of hope over experience. 

I'll keep tabs on the robins as the spring moves on. Frankly, I'd like to hear Mrs. Robin yelling at her husband the way she yells at me. But I think they don't like to air their dirty laundry outside the nest.  

Quislings.

I've mentioned Mike "Flangepart" Weller in these parts before, because parts is parts, and because he is a very funny chap. This is one of his recent posters, from the comments of the Great Lileks's site:

The Quisling Mascot is a longtime point of discussion on the site -- the cheerful animated food mascot that sends its fellows to their doom in the hope of being eaten last, or not at all. The name of course comes from Vidkun Quisling, the Norwegian traitor who was the Nazis’ puppet prime minister in Norway.

This was a fake poster of particular interest to me. My novel Larry and the Mascots features advertising mascots brought to life by some mysterious means, and one of them, featured on the revised cover below, is a quisling pig named Hamswell, mascot for Holmswell Pork and Canned Meats. 

Hamswell turns to the dark side, driven by his hatred of the humans that he feels made him the traitor that he is. Some of the mascots are friendly, and others are warped, and Hamswell is one of the most warped. He would have appreciated the idea of Quisling's Fried Chicken.

I highly recommend my book, of course, because the mystery of the murderous pig is only one of the delights you'll find inside. Who else will our hero encounter? The Jolly Green Giant? Bob's Big Boy? The Scrubbing Bubbles? I won't go so far as to say that reading my books will make you taller and better looking, but they'll entertain you, and in this era of entertainment that fails to entertain, that ain't nothing. 

Plus, no pigs have been harmed in the making of this product. Or chickens.

Bad analogies.

Bad analogies are as old as analogies. 

This has been making the rounds among my editorial acquaintances; no idea if it's real, but it's funny.

I'm particularly fond of #3, which I think is not bad at all, and #7. That one reminds me of a favorite from the BBC's Goon Show, spoken by Harry Secombe in the episode called "China Story": "In the darkness we sat huddled on the fiendish Chinese river-steamer, the silence broken only by the sound of the silence being broken." It's not an analogy exactly, but a kind of analogous tautology. Here's another, from The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: "The ships hung in the sky in much the same way that bricks don't." 

The British may be very good at this bad-writing-for-effect stuff. 

The above may be bad analogies, but as I always say, to really screw up you need an expert. I, as a writer and editor, would like to present some bad analogies of my own. 

1. I tried to get him to talk, but his lips were clamped tighter than a dog's who got hold of a sock when you told him a hundred times to stop chewing on socks but he doesn't listen because he's a naughty boy, yes he is, yes he is.

2. It's as hot as a hot thing.

3. She was cute as a baby otter, and twice as smart.

4. It was pricier than a $1000 whore.

5. He had a phonographic memory.

6. He was as mad as a guy who got one of those fake scratch-off lottery tickets and fell for it like a dumdum.

7. He was hornier than an ibex who got thrown off Tinder.

8. Gout is really painful. She felt like she had gout in her heart. You can't get gout in your heart, but her heart hurt like she had.

9. "He's totally doornailed, man!"

10. She was free as a bird and crappin' on everybody. 

Okay, maybe they're not bad enough to be good, but they could be good enough to be bad!

Nyetsy.

 

Strangely, Katie's Elephant Cozy knitting business on Etsy
did not take off as well as she had hoped. 

Kindly read instructions.

China -- where the Chinese Death Virus has boomeranged and causing brutal lockdowns, or perhaps is providing the excuse for some kind of mob control -- has slowed a lot of its manufacturing. This is causing all kinds of financial issues, and exposing the nation's preposterous real-estate overvaluations. One source, Zero Hedge, however, suggests that China may be slowing its factories on purpose: 

What if China is purposely shutting down its country to wreak havoc on the global supply chain even further and to exert its power over the quality of lives of the western world?... What if China wants to not only exert its influence by backing its currency, but also by keeping its production means on a tighter leash: more for the benefit of its own people, and less for the benefits of Americans exporting dollars. How would China show the rest of the world in a passive, non-confrontational way, exactly just how much power they have over our quality of life?

Well, whatever it is, I hope more stuff gets made in the United States, or at least in countries where English is not quite so foreign. If so, the instructions will be much more legible. 

Here are some recent examples I've encountered where the language is not horrible, but... off. First up, an under-sink organizer:

The problem with insserting B2 and A2 is that nothing is labeled. Plus, "Assemble the combination of steps 1 and 2" as an instruction can only yield one thought:

Fortunately this little organizer is not too tricky and could be assembled without instructions if necessary. In fact, the instructions might be more of a hinderance. 

This box contained spray bottles for oil, with stinless caps and for which oil may be sprinkled for reduced calorie (as opposed to just pouring oil in the pan, which leads to more calorie). The dimensions of the bottles are interesting, but not very helpful. The sprinkling, though, is not ensure, because after a few uses the spray head had reduced the spray to a stream. I wind up using a brush to ensure pan coverage, which I could have done without the spray bottle.  

This last one isn't so bad, but it does have an attitude I see common in the promotion of electronic products from the East:

Charge fast, live more! So many things like this are sold with the promise to bring your dull, frustrating existence from the darkness of the past into the bright adventure of the future. Power quick! Go skydiving! Meet exciting people! Eat in places with cloth napkins! Don't just sit around like an idiot, waiting for your phone to charge! 

For all your Engrish needs, I recommend the Reddit site on the topic. I never thought I would recommend anything on Reddit, but times have changed. Use Reddit to snap in place shown by the arrow! Live more! 

Spring fever.

Big, enormous plus sides to spring: 

Daffodils in bloom, trees slowly unfurling leaves, grass turning green once more.

Similarly, downsides: 

I woke up Monday with a crushing headache. Worst I ever had, or at least since the last time I attended 2-for-1 Tequila Night at the Fallout Bar. (Or something like that. Anyway, it was back when I would have loved a 2-for-1 booze night of any kind.) It was the kind of headache that makes you think Hmm, one of the classic stroke symptoms is described as "worst headache I ever had." And: At my age it won't be nice and slay me right off; it will leave me blind and paralyzed and in a home for thirty years. Because I can catastrophize anything. 

It woke me up about five a.m., and that woke up the dogs, and somehow I managed to get them outside and back. But the agony continued through three Advil Liqui-Gels, two arthritis-strength Tylenol, an ice pack, two shots per nostril of Afrin, and two pseudoephedrine. They eventually tamed it enough for me to get into a hot shower, as hot as I could stand it, where steam did the rest. I was tired and unfocused all day, though. (I think I had also slept funny -- not funny ha-ha -- because my neck hurt a lot, which of course I attributed to encephalitis until it went away.) 

AccuWeather said the air quality was excellent, using some standard I can't imagine. Excellent for pollinating plants, I suppose. For humans with hay fever, not so hot.

That was only half the spring-related trauma, though. My wife had been brushing out large economy-size heap o' fuzz Tralfaz, and a day later found a big ol' tick in her hair. She doesn't go rubbing her head in the weeds, or at least hides it from me if she does, so I believe she was right in saying it must have come in on the dog and transferred to her.

Her reaction to finding a tick was what you might expect. 

After smashing the beast and sending it down the toilet, I assured her that it was not a Lyme-bearing deer tick, because this tick was very large and those are very small. Somehow she did not find that as reassuring as one might have hoped.

Naturally, Fazzy had a new flea and tick collar on before the hour was out. 

So, on we go with spring, and it's soggy as an underwater Oldsmobile out there this morning. I'm glad I feel okay today, and I'm glad it wasn't a stroke. You hate to get to the age where you write a phrase like "I'm glad it wasn't a stroke," but that's what happens if you live long enough, I suppose. 

Easter eats.

Hello, food fans! Yesterday turned out to be an exceptionally busy day all around, so I'm afraid I have nothing prepared in advance for you. I feel a little like Woodstock this morning...

... a little dazed, headachey, and like Easter hit me all at once and by surprise. 

However, I thought I'd share my crowd-pleasing recipe with you, that is if your crowd likes lamb. I did ultimately find lamb shanks this year, thanks to the help of the local ShopRite butcher, and it was worth the trouble. 

This recipe was adapted from a cookbook, and I would credit the author if I had a clue which book it was. I only have my scribbled note, though, and didn't think to write down even the title of the book, which I do not own.

Slow-Cooker Lamb Shanks

1 chopped onion

2 chopped carrots

2 chopped celery ribs

3 crushed cloves garlic

4 lamb shanks

2 tsp. salt

½ tsp. pepper

1 tsp. dried oregano

1 tsp. dried thyme

2 bay leaves

1/4 cup dry white wine

8-oz. can tomato sauce

Place onions, carrots, celery, and garlic in slow cooker. Season lamb with salt and pepper. Add to slow cooker. Add remaining ingredients. Cover and cook on Low 8 to 10 hours. Serve over rice.

😋😋😋

I'm telling you, this makes an excellent, elegant dish for any occasion. If you give it a try, let me know how you like it. And if you're the author of this recipe, drop me a line so we can give you credit. 

Happy Easter!

Not much to say beyond this -- I hope you have a wonderful day! And here's some levity for you. Even the Weight of Glory needs some lightness in its light. 

Just in case you do the cooking on the holidays

If you like flavored coffee and jelly beans, Dunkin's iced coffee
jelly beans are for you. My wife looooves them. Frankford, who
makes them, is the same outfit that makes the hot chocolate bombs.

Christians don't decorate for Easter the way
we do for Christmas, but some families will
go the extra mile. 

What harm could it do?

 

“Dual-use technologies always turn into weapons.” --Austin Vernon

Death in the family.

When I was a young lad about town some years ago, I and some friends went to the Old Town Bar on Good Friday to imbibe. We found it dark, with a sign on the door saying Closed Due to Death in Family 2000 Years Ago. 

A bar closing on a Friday! Now that's a sacrifice. 

And, after all, today is a day of sacrifice. Some are not that difficult. I feel better than I did yesterday, but my normal -- perhaps my normal abnormal -- appetite for food is still diminished. We'll abstain from meat at dinner, which is no big deal. Of course, there's already Easter chocolate in the house, but I can resist that too. The only danger there is that I'm such a knucklehead for candy I might grab for one without thinking. 

Dove chocolate. It could only be more suitable if the brand were Lamb chocolate.

My wife took the day off to focus on its significance, but I'll be working. If freelancers had a flag its motto would be Nullum opus, nullum stipendium, or No work, no pay.

But I won't forget today is the day to remember this. 

Sick day.

Not much today; trying to take it easy. It won't help, though. I believe I have a case of gastritis. My stomach has been off since Friday, but without the explosive or cemented effects one might have from gastroenteritis. 

How did I get this? Oh, who knows. I have two dogs with powerhouse immune systems who like to snack on wildlife poop; maybe that had something to do with it. You forget to wash your hands once....

At least it's not Chinese Death Virus. 

Although I have managed with some difficulty to procure lamb shanks for the Easter feast, and I would hate to be unable to enjoy it. On the other hand, feeling poorly makes the Good Friday fast easier. 

Well, I'll check in tomorrow. I still have to work, but I'm letting other things go light. The dogs can walk each other for all I care. Blarg.

Drinking (breakfast) and driving.

So what on earth is this? you wonder. Or not, if you know already. 

The Crunch Cup is a clever device that purports to allow you to drink your breakfast cereal. No more messing around with spoons! No more trying to stuff a bowl in the cupholder of your car! Now you can fix your Cocoa Puffs up and head on out to work! 

I was given this as a gift by a relative who knows how much I love cereal. Would this be helpful to me, she wondered? Well, since I work from home now, commuting is not a hassle anymore, and not therefore a time in which I might wish to have some Lucky Charms in beverage form. Still, we must give this a try because it's clever and it's for cereal. Yum!

First: Take the thing apart and fill the outer cup to the milk line. 

Second: Fill the inner cup with cereal and apply lid. (You will notice that I used Cheerios for this test, and I have to confess that the first time I tried it I used cornflakes. Flakes get too mushy too fast, though, and are not suitable for drinking.)

Third: Insert cereal cup into milk cup, secure, and you're ready to go! Just make sure the white cap on top is on the drink position before you try to use it, or you'll wind up wearing some milk. 

And the question is: Does it work?

Yes. I think the design is interesting because when you tip it up, dry cereal and wet milk pour into your mouth at roughly equal speed. I suspect that the shape and size were carefully measured to ensure that, while being able to fit in the average vehicle cup holder. I don't think it would scale up or down well. I did manage to dribble a bit of milk on my shirt anyhow.

Considering its size, though, you don't get a lot of cereal, and in fact I found that I had milk left over when the cereal was almost gone. I say almost because some Cheerios remained stuck inside the cereal section after milk got inside. There's no non-messy way to extract them when that happens. 

I think it's useful for people who really do get their morning nutrition in the car. But I would caution that it's not as secure as, say, a good travel coffee mug. It only takes a bit of tip to get milk on you, and soured milk is not the scent you want to fragrance the office. If you leave it in a hot car all day while you work, it would probably get a little nasty by quittin' time. Then there’s the pothole question. So there are some issues to consider. 

The fact that it works at all is pretty neat, though. It is made of the finest plastic China can supply, and is dishwasher safe. Plus, if you're more of a smoothie drinker, just leave the insert cup out and it becomes a smoothie cup. Not a perfect one, since the top doesn't seal shut, but a big one.

I think I'll stick to granola bars and maybe an apple if I want to have breakfast in the car, though. I might get crumbs but I'd never get splashed.  

The Internet of Annoying Things.

NB: Gag inspired by yesterday's Bleat on the Great Lileks's site.
 

So long, tree.

Well, the tree I tried to save almost three years ago died anyway. It was a fruitless task for my fruitless plum, a thundercloud, that looked magnificent in the spring and gorgeous in the summer. Last year it only sprouted a few leaves, and by autumn I knew it was dead. 

I brought that tree home myself, in the back of my car, barely more than a sapling, from a garden center that has since closed. It took root and grew where previous trees had failed. Alas, I didn't know that they only live for about twenty years, one of the shortest life spans of cultivated trees, and it had been growing a few years when I got it. In the end there was nothing I could do. The maples nearby continue to thrive, but for the plum, its time was up. 

I only have a hatchet and some saws, and this was no job for that. Time to call in the pros. They dispatched the branches first, then pulled the stump out with truck and chain, like popping a cork. 

Sad to see it go -- by far the most successful thing I've ever planted. What's got two brown thumbs and kills plants? This guy [points to self]. Every spring when it began to flower I'd think I planted that! But alas, no more. It is gone. 

Except for the stump. They said they had to come back for it. Well, I guess they will, since I haven't paid them yet.

Now I have to figure out what to do to fill the hole. I've already had a maple and a dogwood die in that spot, each within one year. 

Maybe I can get a redwood sapling. It would annoy the neighbors. It'd take a century, but it would annoy the neighbors! 

Go. Team.

Baseball started on Friday night, and my Beloved Mets are 3-0 so far, and I couldn't be less excited. 

Yippee.

Of course, I have my reasons. I don't get enthusiastic without cause, and I don't lose enthusiasm without cause, and I expect you're the same. 

1) The Mets are injury-plagued. I've complained about this many times in the past. Our ace is already hurt in the last year of his contract (which he's indicated will be the last year with the team), and our #2 guy has a dicey hamstring. So the stage is already set for another season in the emergency room.

2) The Mets are jinxed. I swear, since 1986 they've found more and better ways to collapse at just the wrong time than any other team in baseball. The disastrous seasons under Willie Randolph (September 2007 saw two five-game losing streaks that finished them one game out of first place and out of the playoffs) were epic.

3) MLB and the players' union colluded to rob the fans. After a work stoppage -- and let's be clear, these are not starving black-lunged coal miners vs. Uncle Pennybags from Monopoly, but millionaires fighting over an $11 billion pot -- what they agreed to included:

• Significant increases to minimum salaries (need more money from the fans!)
• Significant increases to the payroll thresholds applicable under the Competitive Balance Tax, commonly called a luxury tax (need more money from the fans!)
• Amendments to the MLB draft order designed to deter tanking by teams that won't make playoffs (because the teams have to be forced to care about the fans!)
• Expanded postseason (12 teams) (more meaningless games; season ends at Thanksgiving!)
• Enhanced revenue streams through jersey and helmet sponsorships (need more money from the fans!)
• Improved benefits for former players (need more money from the fans!)

So despite the fact that, as CNN noted, "Owners have said they have been battered by shrinking attendance," the fans are going to have to shell out more, so what now -- $15 hot dogs and $20 beers? Who do they think they are, Disney World? Sorry, not taking out a home equity loan to root root root for the home team.

4) The DH has been forced on the National League. We always knew the "pansy ball" rule would happen to us, and of course it was sneaked in with no fan input. 

5) The hated ghost-runner-on-second for extra innings is hanging around like a boring houseguest. Double-headers will be nine-inning games again, though, but they'll be sure to make most of them day-night double-headers -- two admissions!

6) The convergence of showboating and "moneyball" strategies have led to truly awful baseball games. The showboating is easy to understand -- dummies swinging for the fences all the time makes for tons of strikeouts. Conversely, looking for walks all the time is just as bad. Dull and hard to watch. Changing pitchers constantly leads to burned-out bullpens and bad throwing. It's one thing to protect the starter and another to constantly blow the starter's leads.

7) If the fans haven't gotten annoyed enough yet, Apple and MLB will be putting a bunch of games on Apple's streaming-only Apple TV+, including the Mets' Friday-night win, which will help prevent the aging baseball fan from being able to watch his game on Friday nights. 

8) I don't want to get into it here, but we know the MLB is almost as woketastic as the NFL. I'm sure all us white guys love paying to be told that we're the cause of all the world's problems. Is this one of those privileges I'm supposed to check?

9) I found less annoying things to do with my time during the Chinese Death Virus shutdown than watch my cursed, injured home team stumble through dull, four-hour games on its way to folding like a dollar-store card table.  

If the Mets' luck continues, I might overlook a few of these, even the ones like #1 and #2 that mean disaster is inevitable. But the rest play into the leagues' continual disdain for the goose that lays the golden eggs. Indeed, they seem to think that the best way to get that goose to lay more eggs is to insult it and choke the living tar out of it. 

I may not be an expert in these things, but I think when you're treating the customer like a sucker, you're not supposed to be obvious about it. 

Check's in the mail, hmm?

 

CSI: Porch.

I was inside the house with the dogs, and yet none of us heard what almost certainly was a battle to the death raging outside on the front porch. 

Not sure if the fight knocked over the shovel, 
which I have left out to prevent any 
further snow. You're welcome.

Our preliminary examination shows two different kinds of bird feathers -- larger, well formed wing feathers and smaller, fluffier down ones. Also, we immediately notice that blood was spilled here. 

By far the smaller feathers dominate, in the area around as well as upon the porch. 

Because, in truth, I know nothing of ornithology, I have had to guess that either a large bird got hold of a smaller one that fought like hell, or a large bird got hold of a mammal that may have even successfully fought to escape, leaving different types of bloody feathers from the same bird behind. Anyone who actually did pay attention to this in Cub Scouts is invited to tell me what you think in comments.

Of course, Baby Dog Izzy zeroed in on the blood like a kamikaze. Once I wrestled him away, I swept off the feathers and washed off the blood with soapy water. Dogs, like other carnivores, know that blood = good eats!

And alas, I am reminded of Tennyson's immortal words: 

Who trusted God was love indeed

And love Creation's final law

Tho' Nature, red in tooth and claw

With ravine, shriek'd against his creed

Personally, I think there's no problem believing in a loving God and yet knowing nature is cruel. It's only wibbly wobbly types who walk up to grizzly bears to say hi that worship Nature as an all-benevolent goddess, dispensing kindness to all. They may get corrected suddenly and effectively.

Fredcoin Sloganeering.

I'm still having some trouble getting the word of my fantastic new cryptocurrency, Fredcoin, out into the wider world. Barring a sudden discovery by Crypto King Elon Musk, Fredcoin needs lots of new clients to get into common use. Sure, it's the eighth wonder of the modern world and all, but we still need to use the ol' razzmatazz, the ol' razzle dazzle, to get suckers in the tent investors on the board.  

So I sent my assistant, Lacky Flunkman, out to round up a pile of old slogans that aren't being used anymore. Why buy new if you can find something perfectly good used, right? He came in with a couple of wheelbarrows full, and now I'm sitting on the office floor, sorting them out. 

I've narrowed it down to twenty or so I'm considering. Feel free to vote for your favorite in comments, or weigh in with some that Flunkman didn't dig up. 

💵💰💲💰💱💰💲💵💲💱

Fredcoin Adds Life

I'm Lovin' Fredcoin

Like a Good Neighbor, Fredcoin Is There

Wouldn't You Really Rather Have a Fredcoin?

Fredcoin Builds Better Bodies 8 Ways

Gotta Have My Fredcoin!

It's the Fredcoin Generation

Fredcoin: I'd Rather Fight Than Switch

Fredcoin: Have It Your Way

Fredcoin: With Retsyn!

Put a Fredcoin in Your Tank!

Get a Piece of the Fredcoin

I'd Walk a Mile for a Fredcoin

The Stack That Snarls Back: Fredcoin

Things Go Better with Fredcoin

Fredcoin Tastes Good Like a Cryptocoin Should

Time to Mint the Fredcoin!

Fredcoin Makes a Better Way to Face a Busy Day

Crazy Fredcoin! Its Values Are INSANE!

Betcha Can't Buy Just One Fredcoin!

Got Fredcoin?

I'd Like to Teach the World to Fredcoin

There Are Some Things Money Can't Buy. Use Fredcoin Instead.

💵💰💲💰💱💰💲💵💲💱

I don't know, though; none of them really grabs me. What do you think?

Gas attack.

Ouch.

Behold, the cost of fill-up for lowest octane gasoline at the cheapest station in our New York town.

No one knows why it's so pricey just now! It's so bizarre! And yet people who are not insane or lying know that printing money and restricting goods causes inflation, and Washington is doing both, especially for gasoline. Wages rise due to inflationary pressures too, but prices always rise faster than wages. 

Since I don't drive 80 miles round trip to work anymore, I don't fill up very often, but plenty of people I know do a lot of driving and not for fun. They can't restrict the amount they drive. But whether we fill up or not we will pay, because gas prices make everything else more expensive. I'd guess that oil is more important to inflation than any other commodity, because everything has to be delivered. 

That's right, you Goop-loving Coachella-going ladies; even the quaintest little bobo shop has to bring things in. That place that makes its own chocolate, the one that brews its own beer, the one with the amazing florist who makes such adorable arrangements, the place that throws its own pots or makes its own candles -- none of these is mining and farming for supplies in the shop cellar. 

Leonard E. Read's famous essay "I, Pencil" should be mandatory reading in middle school, and again in high school. Materials have to be delivered. Rising fuel prices mean higher wholesale prices, and more money that the shop owner has to charge.

Unfortunately it's not the class who thinks we can replace gas and nukes with windmills, solar, and other bronze age tech that suffers. It's people who have to keep a close eye on spending or face the possibility of ruin, however harder or smarter they work.

But it's all fine for our wealthy elites. You know, I always thought "FU money" meant having enough dough to be able to tell those who would impinge your freedom to go jump in the lake. Turns out that to our elites, "FU money" means the rest of us can go F ourselves.

CONFESS!

Okay, it wasn't like that at all. 

I was very relieved to finally get to Confession after two and a half years, staying away from church entirely (but for one funeral Mass) since the outbreak of Chinese Death Virus. 

I got there early on Saturday, as I hoped to have some time to talk with the priest about something weighing on my mind, but by the time he arrived there was a long line behind me. So I stuck to the sin part of the situation and he ignored my hints at the larger issue. That's how it goes in the Reconciliation Room; you're not there to gossip or be psychoanalyzed or complain about your family, you're there to confess your own sins and leave cleaner and stronger, ready to start the fight again. A priest is always willing to discuss things in more depth, but not in the Confessional.

Frankly, though, I've found that even counselors don't want to listen to me. They seize on what they see as the issue and don't listen any further. Well, it's been a long time since I went to one. Maybe I should try to get my head shrunk again.  

Space soda!

What does space taste like?

Seems like a strange question, does it not? And yet, Coca-Cola claims to have answered it with its limited edition Starlight Coca-Cola from its Coca-Cola Creations laboratory.

I bought the Zero version. My curiosity got the better of me, which shows you that I'm a sucker. For $5.99 a ten-pack of 7.5-oz. cans, you'd better believe I am. I took the hit so you don't have to. Don't say I never do anything for you. 

So, what does space taste like?

Coke says, "Inspired by space, Starlight was created with the vision that -- in a world of infinite possibilities -- somewhere in our universe, another kind of Coca-Cola, another way of connecting with each other, might exist." Okay, that's a big turd of nothing. I'm personally so sick of phrases like connecting with others that I am at the point where I would like to go to a marketing department and start connecting with others' noses with my fist. 

And the flavor? "Inspired by the infinite possibilities of space, Coca‑Cola Starlight fuses signature Coca‑Cola taste with unexpected touches, including a reddish hue and cooling taste sensation evoking the feeling of a journey to space." So, like Coke but with red dye 40.

According to Dennis Lee at food blog The Takeout, "Coca-Cola Starlight Tastes Like One Big Marketing Ploy: What do you think outer space tastes like? Coca-Cola is hoping you'll pay to find out." Yep.

Food Network reviews it positively (although mocking the marketing somewhat), saying, "if you go by this beverage, space tastes kind of like minty cotton candy sprinkled with vanilla, and has a sort of red tint. It’s pleasantly sweet and candy-like and just a bit fruity, which is excellent if that’s what you are going for. It might not be if you don’t really lean towards sweets, but in that case, you probably aren’t picking up a can of Coca-Cola anyway."

I'm drinking a can right now, and I'm not getting the minty. Definitely cotton candy. This could easily have been sold as Cotton Candy Coke without the happy Age of Aquarius-type centaur crap. It's about the color of Dr Pepper, though, so to cotton candy it up they would have had to done a more serious dye job.  

It's okay, but not that interesting. The main thing it does is make me think of one of my least-favorite ELO songs, "Starlight," from the album Out of the Blue.

According to the site Jeff Lynne Songs, Lynne conceived of the song while watching the night sky over Switzerland. Tierney Smith called it an "uncharacteristically dull ballad," and I agree. I hope that if Coca-Cola Creations takes another song title from Out of the Blue, they go with "Wild West Hero" or "Birmingham Blues" or "Across the Border." "Mr. Blue Sky" has seen quite a revival in recent years; that could work. "The Jungle" might be more their speed, with its brotherhood of animals feel. But “jungle” is a pejorative now, and Jungle Coke would undoubtedly be “problematic.” Across the Border Coke might imply tequila, but it could be okay.

For my money, "Starlight," like the soda, is a lot of sweet and not much fizz. Don’t bother with the soda unless you really dig cotton candy, minty or otherwise.